The Inca Trail - Day 1 (29.08.08)

Finally the day had arrived, we were going to set off on a three day trek that would ultimately lead me to the realization of a twenty year old dream. I have been wanting to go to the “lost” Incan city of Machu Picchu ever since I watched “Cities of Gold” as a little girl in Brisbane. Visiting this archeological site was the sole reason for coming to South America and the seed that started this round the world trip. I had to pinch myself that this was really happening, although, admittedly I was rather nervous as I had heard the trek, particularly the infamous “day two”, was pretty hard.

So, Jon, Kristy (another volunteer, most had been last weekend) and I set off at 6.30am on Friday morning. We were collected by the tour company and taken into town where we were placed on a bus full of German tourists. My first thought was that the ditzy blonde in charge of our tour booking has stuffed up yet again (she is quite hopeless) and had put us on a German speaking tour with a very scary, butch, impatient (she had a minor hissy fit with the microphone) German tour guide dressed head to toe in kaki. Once we arrived in Ollantaytambo for a breakfast stop, most of my fears were laid to rest when a Peruvian guide introduced himself and told us in Spanglish he would be taking the three of us on the trek and we would just be eating and camping with the Germans. A big sigh of relief, although I would have preferred to be with a group of English speakers.

The bus then took us up a narrow, one way, dirt road, past the village of Chilca at Piscakucho, to the starting point of the trail known as “km 82”. We unloaded all our stuff off the bus, slapped on sun cream, adjusted our walking sticks, left our backpack for the porter to carry (there was no way Jon or I were going to lug our 65 litre pack over 4200 metre high mountain pass. We paid $90US for someone a lot fitter than us to do it) and wondered how come everyone else, except for us three, looked like professional hikers. The Germans carried their own packs. Kristy attempted to carry hers. We made our way down to the first checkpoint, had our passports stamped and crossed the Rio Urubamba. We were off…

Five hundred people (including porters and guides) start the trail every day which means at any given point up to 2000 people are trekking to Machu Picchu along this well worn path. The Inca Trail is a 35km route that winds its way up, down and around mountains, snaking over three high passes and goes through Llactapata, Runkuraqay, Sayacmarca and Phuyupatamarca (don’t ask me to pronounce any of these names), sites containing Inca ruins.

At the top of the very first slope, about 20 metres into the trek, Kristy sat down and declared she could not go any further (she had been suffering from bronchitis). Consequently, Jon took her backpack and the guide carried Jon’s day pack on his front. Kristy was then able to breath a bit easier and continue on. The track climbed gently alongside the river. Behind us we could see the spectacular snow capped peaks of Veronica (named after a New Zealand lady who had perished on its slopes in an avalanche). It wasn’t particularly hard going and after two hours we passed the ruins of Llactapata (we didn’t go down to explore) and then had lunch - a feast of carbohydrates. We continued on to Wayllabamba (3100m), our camp for the night. All our tents were already set up for us, awaiting our arrival, as were the half naked Germans (they walk fast) who were bathing in the freezing cold stream. This included their tour guide who was in a giant brassiere scrubbing herself in the water trough – not a site for sore eyes. We had only hiked for 4.5 hours, a total of 12km, so we weren’t that knackered, however, we did retire to bed after filling ourselves on more carbs and popcorn at 8.00pm. I didn’t sleep that well, my mattress was paper thin and a German was snoring two feet away from me.